Are We Living A Lie?
Self-compassion is the way out
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY (1821-1881) | Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.
We all have a story to tell…and no one tells any story but their own. If we are parents, then our story will also impact the lives of our children.
But we live in the age of Instagram…
Where everyone has it all together…even though they don’t.
Where everyone is living an awesome, anxiety-free, depression-free life…even though they’re not.
Our social media profiles “prove” we are living our best lives with tons of friends…and yet we are drowning in loneliness.
If we cannot share the stories of our life with someone who will honor them by allowing us to make ourselves truly known…then we will likely share the same fate as Joseph Grimaldi (1778-1837).
It was said that Grimaldi, widely known as the “King of the Clowns”, had perfected the art and raised it to a higher form of entertainment.
In fact, there is a small local park situated on Pentonville Road Islington named “Joseph Grimaldi Park” where he is buried, and an annual parade is held in his honor. If you attended this parade, you would see several marchers dressed as clowns with full costumes and make-up . It’s quite an unexpectedly somber celebration.
Each year, on the first Sunday in February, a service is held for Grimaldi at Holy Trinity Church in Dalston North London where clowns from all over England, Europe, and other distant places gather to remember the great man.
Joseph Grimaldi was born in London, England on 18 December 1778, to an English mother and Italian father. Joseph’s parents and grandparents were entertainers and played in a number of local music halls. By the age of two, he was on stage at Drury Lane, and at the age of three, he was appearing regularly at Saddler’s Wells Theatre. But then, at the age of nine, Joseph’s father died, and he began working full-time to support his mother.
Despite these difficult circumstances, it would not be long before Joseph laid claim to the title of “the most celebrated of English Clowns” and his life seemed touched by success. In truth, he was tormented by sadness.
After just eighteen months of marriage, Joseph’s wife died in childbirth, and his son, who also became a clown, later drank himself to death by the age of thirty. The only moments of happiness that the otherwise unhappy entertainer enjoyed were during his performances when he could lose himself in his work.
It should be noted that until Joseph’s entrance onto the stage, clowns were typically portrayed as fools and country bumpkins, but he managed to elevate clowning to an ‘art form’ and was arguably the most widely acclaimed star of his day.
Joseph introduced audience participation into his act and often invited them to finish the last line of his jokes or songs. He appeared in several pantomime shows throughout London which only elevated his status even more.
The King of Clowns also became quite skilled at caricaturing important figures, including politicians and royalty, with such brilliant subtlety that the subjects of his imitations were sometimes unable to recognize his craft. However, when the caricature was recognized, his portrayal was always accepted in good humor.
Over the years, Joseph’s over-exertions on stage took a toll and he suffered from fatigue and ill-health until he was forced to retire at the age of fifty. Nearly crippled, unable to work, or even walk, and virtually penniless, Joseph found himself in dire straits. When word got around of his plight, benefits were held at the largest theatres where he had performed. Joseph was also granted a pension of 100 pounds per year from the Drury Lane Theatrical Fund.
During his final years, he spent most of his time at a local tavern, the Cornwallis in Pentonville, where every night, the kindly landlord carried Joseph to his lodgings. On the night of 31st May 1837, he died. An obituary in the London Illustrated News said, “Grimaldi is dead and hath left no peer. We fear with him the spirit of pantomime has disappeared”.
The two volumes of Grimaldi’s ‘Memoirs’ were edited by another local hero, none other than famed novelist Charles Dickens (1812-1870), and published in 1838.
Epilogue
In the year 1806, a well-dressed man in his twenties visited a doctor who was renowned throughout London for his successful treatment of what we now call ‘depression’, but back then was known as ‘melancholia’.
The patient explained that he felt overcome by a terrible sadness, even to the point of not wanting to get out of bed in the morning. He despaired of finding any purpose to his existence.
“With your condition I would normally prescribe a course of my patent powders,” said the doctor, “but it so happens that I have recently come across something which will alleviate your condition much more quickly.”
“You must,” he continued, “go to the Covent Garden theatre to see the pantomime, Harlequin & Mother Goose. This is the happiest thing I have ever seen performed on a stage; tears of laugher quite literally ran down my face. Why, sir, I can almost guarantee that watching Grimaldi the clown will cure you completely!”
At these words, the doctor noticed tears welling up in the eyes of his young patient.
“But doctor,” the man replied softly, “I am Grimaldi the clown.”
We all have stories to tell, and they deserved to be honored in an emotionally safe environment. And Grimaldi’s story doesn’t have to be ours. If we’re willing to have some compassion on ourselves and seek healing for our emotional wounds…then there is a way forward, no matter how dark the path behind. And whatever we don’t deal with in our own lives…our children will.
Click here for more information on Grief Recovery.
